New World
by palomino333
Summary: Sequel to Pandora's Box. Set directly after "The Doomsday Machine." "'Spock, don't make me do this...I can't, not now. I can't take a life.'" Bearing old wounds, McCoy expresses the desire to meld with Spock. Slash.


Much of this fanfic references _Shadows on the Sun_ by Michael Jan Friedman. Within the novel, McCoy, being very young at the time, is convinced by his CMO Dr. Vincent Bando, to pry information from his patient, an assassin, in order to bring an early end to a war. McCoy ultimately refuses, due to his friends bringing to his attention the fact that he is betraying the Hippocratic Oath by doing this. Bando then attempts murder on McCoy and the patient. Bando's court martial is mentioned to be handled by Captain Pike, and considering Spock was under Pike's command at the time, I figured that he would be present. Joanna's muttering of "You killed me, Daddy," is from a nightmare McCoy has in the book.

I tried not to make the mind meld too trippy.

* * *

-Report: Alternate Universe (dubbed the Mirror Universe by Captain James T. Kirk of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ )-

Subject: Commander Spock of the _I.S.S. Enterprise_ , flagship of the Terran Empire

Author: Lieutenant Commander Leonard H. McCoy, _U.S.S._ _Enterprise-_

Section: Supplementary Notes

For further elaboration upon this report, I've elected to collaborate with Commander Spock. It is with his permission that I add more information about his counterpart, in relation to Vulcan physiology. Despite this, however, this file will not be dense.

To keep from retreading decades of academic study, I'll keep this brief: it was under the teachings of Surak that Vulcan society was able to eventually thrive, as it does so today. Unfortunately, without further inspection of literature from the Terran Empire, I can neither confirm nor deny if Surak's teachings existed within the alternate universe at all.

I will put forth evidence of either being the correct scenario. Commander Spock of the Terran Empire acted with the same composure and poise as our own version of him did so. Much of the landing party's hindrance was from the fact that he was the most difficult to read.

However, Spock's favored method of putting down the landing party, as opposed to the neck pinch typically employed by Vulcans of this universe, was to use physical force. There are also the injuries he inflicted upon me personally after I had healed him, detailed in the dermal regenerator's data file (file uploaded, see below).

As an aside, it's also possible that, similarly to the Romulans in this universe, the Vulcans rejected Surak completely. I can't corroborate this, as, in our own universe, the Vulcan race was close to extinction. The Romulans, however, continue to live to this day, though little is known about that race, as well.

-Notes continued-

* * *

Two planets, lost. That was known.

How many other planets, how many other billions of lives, had been snuffed out, would not be known. Considering matters upon a cosmic scale, however, was difficult for the human mind to process. McCoy didn't think too deeply upon it, as the tragedy would be impossible to grasp. A Vulcan, however, could easily calculate the amount of lives lost.

An endless sea of black, dotted with the pinpricks of stars, showed beyond the viewing window. He'd been lucky not to lose Jim among the dead, and had come within a hair's breadth of doing so. Within the vastness of space, however, the name James T. Kirk probably meant nothing. No one had heard of those missing planets before this incident, and, mostly likely no one would learn of the creators of the machine, due to its destruction, and the fact that it could consume entire planets. The concept of cessation of existence greatly disturbed McCoy, despite how he knew death was a part of the universe.

The creators of that weapon, was that legacy they had wanted for themselves, to be remembered not by cultural or scientific advances, but by a destructive machine? In McCoy's opinion, for that to be a consideration, there was something broken about such architects. That train of thought, of the inherent brokenness, called to mind his encounter with the alternate universe.

The memory of the ordeal still haunted him, for more than one reason. He thought of the alternate version of his daughter, and wondered if she was all right. He also wondered at himself, and lay awake more than once in contemplation of how he could have fallen to such deprived depths. What had happened to his counterpart, or had he simply lost the ability to care? McCoy himself knew he wasn't free of temptations in his own life, and his temper was a considerable problem, but it couldn't have pushed him that far. What sort of hell was Earth, in that universe? He also had infrequent snatches of nightmares about his tormentor. Lying beside his lover in bed had proved soothing, though he taken care to keep his back to Spock when doing so.

Tentatively, he had grown closer to Spock again, brushing his hand against his, or fondly kissing him on the cheek. The return from Gamma Trianguli VI marked a step up, with McCoy straddling Spock's lap in the latter's quarters, and dragging his teeth and tongue over his collarbone and neck. Drawing whimpers from the Vulcan, McCoy growled, "If you ever act that stupid again, I will pull doctor's orders. I don't care if I have to restrain you."

Sleeping beside him had taken the longest to become used to again, as it equated to fully letting his guard down. Spock had contented himself, on more difficult nights, with meditating in the anteroom while Leonard slept. Pouring out a shot of bourbon at one in the morning, drowsily happy at the fact that Kirk was allowing him free reign over his booze again, he stared up at Spock. The Vulcan slowly opened his eyes from where he sat on the floor. "Why do you put up with me?" He mumbled, setting aside the bottle.

"The obvious answer would be that I love you," he replied simply.

"And you call me illogical." McCoy raised his shot glass to Spock before dumping it down the hatch, and slamming it, inverted, down upon the counter.

Sex, however, had not been resumed, and it concerned McCoy. Spock had told him before that it did not matter to him, so long as they were together in some way, but he could not help but feel guilty over it. He wanted Spock, more so than he could say, but what tempered it was the memory of his violation by his lover's doppelganger. There was a sense of tentativeness to it, as if he wasn't quite sure when, not if, control would be lost, despite having memories to the contrary. On an instinctual level, the fear remained, and it frustrated him. He told himself it would only take time.

Footsteps sounded, and he ignored them, as traffic in and out of the lounge was frequent. The _Enterprise_ was still buzzing with activity over the death of the commodore, and the loss of the _Constellation_ , as well as over the planet killer, itself. Harried exclamations and whispers over who knew a crewmate on board the lost ship permeated the air, giving the room an atmosphere of unease. He had a feeling that the loss would continue to rock the ship for a couple of days.

Realizing that they were coming toward him, he turned to see Spock, a PADD in hand, approaching him. McCoy slowly raised his hand, the pointer and middle finger extended, and held close together. Spock mimicked the gesture, and placed his fingers to it. A smile crept up on the doctor's face from the contact. While he respected the fact that Spock desired to keep public displays of affection to a minimum (especially considering they were both senior officers), he did like the fact that Spock was becoming more openly loving toward him in the manner of a Vulcan. Spock wasn't as able to hide things from him as he had thought, and McCoy understood the cause, that being a fear of losing him. Through touch telepathy, the night that he had laid across Spock, he had reassured him that he would not leave. But this was not it, rather it was a more instinctual fear, with the near loss of their friend and captain as a reminder of it. Simply put, Spock did not want his intended mate to come to harm. Considering their professions, it would be difficult for such a desire to be fulfilled.

Was it rationality that won out there, with Spock's desiring for McCoy to be safe keeping him alive, or was it emotionality, as such a thing was impossible? It only served as another conundrum the doctor found so utterly vexing about his lover. As a topic, it was still something that caused the two to lock horns on, standing between the human and the extra-terrestrial, and they were far from their last bout. McCoy chided himself on this, knowing that the line between protectiveness and possessiveness could wear quite thin. With a man who bore the strength of three at his side, he elected to continue to speak for himself.

"I'm getting to be more like you, I think," McCoy commented.

"In what way?" Spock asked, continuing with his work.

"I'm spending more of my time navel gazing."

Spock paused. "Doctor, I do not navel gaze. I meditate."

"The difference being?"

"One would imply unfocused musings. That is what you are doing. The other would imply focusing one's energy upon a specific purpose. That is what I am doing," he replied. At McCoy's annoyed reaction, he added, "I would think that you would not like to be similar, as you have often pontificated on the negative attributes I possess. I am paying you a compliment, then."

"A backhanded one," McCoy grumbled.

The mood sobered, however, as Spock commented, "The captain has decided to hold memorial services tomorrow evening."

"Any idea how far the planet killer traveled?" McCoy asked.

"Without further study, it is impossible to determine," Spock replied, "The loss of life caused by the machine is innumerable at this point."

"Do you even hear yourself talking?" McCoy hissed, swinging his head about.

"Do you have any ideas of your own?" Spock asked evenly, "Doctor, I understand your point, but it will not help in this matter. Without a proper record, we cannot mourn them, as we will mourn the deaths of the crew of the _Constellation_."

Leonard paused, knowing that Spock had him there. Whenever a funeral did occur on the ship, Spock attended it with dignified solemnity. That he could never take from him. "About Decker," he began, "we both failed."

"That is not correct, Doctor," Spock contradicted, and McCoy, on a rare occasion, felt relieved that he did, "Had you forced him to go to sickbay, he would likely have placed you in the brig."

"And you wouldn't be able to overrule that," McCoy added. Spock gave a solemn nod, and the human continued, "How any of you managed to stomach this at the Academy boggles my mind. It feels as if I've dodged a bullet."

"Not as much as you would think. You are still part of this system," he replied, looking out the window.

McCoy raised an eyebrow, but didn't pursue the point. His lover was on to something, but he chose not to drag it into the open. It seemed more of a conversation that he would have with Jim, anyway. Clearing his throat, he began, "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"Spock, I…" He gathered himself, his voice quiet, "I want to try to it. I want to meld with you."

Conversation filled the background on the far end of the room. The doors to the area whooshed open and closed. Spock, his arms folded, continued to stare out at the stars in contemplation. McCoy wanted to grab his shoulders, and force him to face him, his aloofness grating upon him. That was, until he noticed the relieved smile curling up on the side of his face. It faded away, however, as Spock glanced down. "For your own safety, I will make one item clear: I do not intend to bond with you, now. It would only serve to harm you."

"'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,'" McCoy muttered, causing Spock to turn his head.

Not choosing to pursue what was clearly a sore point for McCoy, Spock continued, "What do you wish to focus upon?"

"That should be obvious," The doctor rubbed the back of his neck.

Spock turned fully about, and shook his head. "You do not need to feel embarrassment. It was not your fault."

"Easy to say," he replied, "I don't regret saving him, but it's not the first time that saving a life led to a detrimental consequence."

"Miss Keeler," Spock offered.

"You and Jim came to get me," he commented to brush over it.

"You would do the same for either of us."

Leonard's gaze was faraway, fixing upon some unknown point in his personal history. Spock spoke no further, but kept his eyes upon him. Leonard slowly blinked, his eyes sliding back into place. "Did I ever tell you about my first mission?"

"It is in your file. Ssan, during the Assassin Wars, am I correct?" Spock inquired.

McCoy nodded. "Yes. There was a life I saved on that planet. I kept my oath, at least to that extent," setting his jaw, he elaborated, "It wasn't my best performance."

Spock thought of Dr. Bando, who had resembled more a wild animal than a man during his court martial. Sitting next to Captain Pike, who at the time was his commanding officer, Spock had found it difficult, due to his young age, not to indulge in feeling disgust at Bando. Two charges of attempted murder, one for a Ssan native, and one for a Dr. Leonard McCoy, had been drawn against him. Found guilty, he was continuing to undergo rehabilitation. It was due to that man he had almost lost a chance of meeting his t'hy'la at all. Taking into account the rather vulgar language Bando had used on the stand when ranting about McCoy, as well as the fact that Pike had to call twice for Bando to be restrained, Spock had the notion that, should the former CMO ever be released, he would have to be very careful in keeping Leonard away from him.

"The man I nearly gave my own life for was an assassin. You also know that," McCoy continued gravely, "What you probably weren't told was that two friends of mine remained on Ssan to help with the rebuilding effort after the Wars. To my knowledge, one is still alive, but I lost touch with her several years ago. The other, Dr. Merlin Carver, wasn't so lucky. A few years after I left Ssan with my detachment, Merlin was killed in a bar by the same man I had saved."

Spock shook his head. "Again, you are blaming yourself for something you could not have foreseen."

"Maybe, but that's a demon I have to live with."

Realization dawned upon the Vulcan. "You do not have to do so alone."

McCoy waved a hand. "Enough weaving ghost stories. What do I have to do to prepare for this?"

"I recommend not imbibing alcohol," Spock raised an eyebrow as McCoy groaned and muttered in derision, "I know that you do not meditate, but I would recommend emptying your mind of any emotions or concerns."

McCoy bit down on a laugh, and ran a hand through his hair. "You sure you want to do this with me?"

"I would not make this offering lightly. Those were merely my recommendations to make the experience easier for you."

McCoy frowned, glancing down and away. "I'm just not sure I'm exactly 'compatible.'"

Long fingers tilted his chin up, and he wondered, for a moment, if anyone could see them. Spock, however, seemed not to care, his eyes boring into McCoy's. "T'hy'la, do not devalue yourself." Spock's tone was neutral, but McCoy felt anguish flicker over to him. Warmth, comforting as it was, shot through their bodily contact, causing McCoy to take a breath from it.

"You truly wish to do this?" Spock asked, letting go of his chin. McCoy nodded his head, a fire behind his blue eyes. "Very well," Spock replied, "I will see you in a few hours." Picking up his PADD, he departed the lounge, inspecting it as he went. McCoy watched him before turning about, and staring back out the stars.

* * *

-Supplementary Notes (continued)-

The previous section was a detail of Commander Spock's characteristics, as based upon physiological factors. This section will cover his characteristics, as based upon psychological factors.

I have less to go on here, but I will offer what I can. As mentioned previously, the alternate version of Spock carries the similarity with the primary universe's Spock in purely strategic thinking. Unless pushed, he is generally quiet, calculating, and cold. A perfect machine, or perhaps a perfect Vulcan, based upon an outsider's perception. Considering how torture and promotion by assassination are commonly accepted practices within the alternate universe, I can conjecture that, likely, this is a good practice for survival. What I cannot determine is the amount of times the former practice was inflicted upon him.

As for his loss of control, I will, to avoid this log becoming too personal, not go too far into detail. There are two instances where this had occurred, although one appears to be dubious. Spock's attacking the landing party in the _I.S.S. Enterprise_ 's sick bay appears to be due to a tactical, rather than an emotional, reason, as we had outnumbered him. Still, the fact that he used physical force, rather than a phaser, indicates to me that there was underlying animosity. As for the latter, I find this to be his starker similarity with the primary universe's Commander Spock, that being that he physically assaulted me due to a racially-related reason (i.e. my seeing that he was trapped, culturally as well as mentally, between two worlds, during the forced mind meld). What I am stating is already common knowledge, but I will point out one major difference: unless he is rendered not in control of his functions, the Commander Spock of the primary universe would not use physical force against someone who is causing him offense. The same cannot be said of his counterpart.

Disquietingly, this alternate version of Spock did bring a factor to my attention, that being the fact that sentient beings (at least of the human variety) of the "Mirror Universe" are born similarly in mentality to their primary counterparts. While it's left better to the philosophers to determine the concept of a _tabula rasa_ , I can't propose the theory that the residents of the alternate universe are born inherently "wrong" as a populace. This indicates that environmental factors are more the cause here, and without further evaluation, I can't provide more information.

-Notes Ended. File continued in postscript-

* * *

Anticipation, Spock found, was one of the more difficult emotions he had to place away during his meditation. He had looked forward, in his own manner, to this, and understandably so, given his affection for the doctor. Regardless, however, given the doctor's lack of experience in the joining of a mind, he would be careful in providing a steady presence.

Pausing before McCoy's door, he felt it rise upon him again. There was the fact that he would be exposing his mind to this man. Spock was a private individual, and exposing his body itself to Leonard was marginally easier, due to his lover being the ship's surgeon. Still, he'd had his misgivings about what reactions McCoy would have been able to draw from him, his stoic demeanor shattered by gentle strokes. Perhaps it was due to their petty arguments, or his own shyness, but Spock had felt irrational fear at the prospect of McCoy mocking him for his lack of restraint. It had made it more soothing, then, when Leonard fondly kissed him, and commented upon his beauty, during their first session.

"Come in," McCoy called from within, a typical sarcastic quip he would throw when he knew Spock was in the hallway absent. Spock understood his signal that the doctor was still unsteady. Leonard needed him this time, and he was willing to help.

"Evening, darling." McCoy was leaning against the side of his desk, with a glass of water in his hand. Taking a sip of it, he set it down. Spock stood rooted to the spot, and took in the sight of him, illuminated in low lighting. The scent of aftershave carried its own allure, as did the black shirt that hugged McCoy's chest. His hair was damp, indicating to Spock that the human had recently showered. McCoy smirked. "You gonna just stare all night?"

Spock's long strides quickly cleared the distance between them. His hand on McCoy's cheek, he tilted the doctor's head up to his for a kiss. McCoy grasped a handful of Spock's tunic, and tugged him further into him. A rumbling groan tore from Spock at that. Leonard's hand moved lower, and his other hand joined as he tugged at the bottom of the blue fabric. Spock ran his tongue over McCoy's teeth, and refused to budge, wishing to prolong and savor the moment. McCoy moaned, the tunic slipping from his fingers. Remembering himself, Spock drew back. "Forgive me."

"For what?" He replied, his voice slightly dazed. He rolled his eyes. "Heaven forbid, my hobgoblin boyfriend wants to kiss me."

Spock was about to contradict him out of concern when he realized the underlying meaning of McCoy's words. Grasping Leonard's hands, he brought them to the bottom of his tunic. Tugging on the fabric, the doctor pulled it over his head, and allowed it to fall to the floor. McCoy gave a low whistle at the sight of Spock's nipples, hardened beneath the black fabric. Spock felt self-conscious under his examination, a ghost of a sensation left over from their first night together a year prior. The human had been gentle in his handling of him, undressing him slowly, and lovingly caressing over the Vulcan's frame in touch that, as opposed to typically clinical, was admiring. He'd felt safe under the doctor's guidance and body heat, while Leonard's drawling in his ear threatened to drive him mad.

That admiration appeared to him again as McCoy ran his thumbs over Spock's pert nipples, and stroked along his ribs. Spock relaxed against the familiar touch, arching into the doctor's hand. "Leonard," he moaned, gasping as the doctor took one into his mouth, "T'hy'la!" McCoy raised those soft eyes to look up at him, and Spock latched onto his shoulders, breathing hard. He could feel the heat gathering in his groin, and he released the tension by pushing down upon him. Logic told him that McCoy needed to stop teasing him. Focus was needed for tonight. Emotion, however, pleaded for Leonard to continue.

McCoy himself, however, overrode both by drawing out. "God, I love you," he murmured, the reverence of his words shaking Spock to the core. However, the next moment, as was typical of the doctor's behavior, his mood shifted, and, as a result, he appeared adversarial. Reaching out, McCoy grasped his arms. "Don't," he demanded, his voice rough, "Not even for me. I'm not worth you damaging your mind."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "It is my mind. I can do what I please with it," he responded evenly.

He shook his arms. "Listen to your doctor, Spock." His eyes narrowed. "If you don't leave, I'll make you."

Spock felt fear rising within McCoy, and understood that he was trying to bluff him. However, he backed down. "If you desire for me to leave, I will do so." He did not move, however, and awaited McCoy's decision.

McCoy felt compelled to give him the order to go. This had been a mistake. He didn't wish to dump his problems on someone else, ugly as they were. What right had this man to see him so stripped bare, his fantasies, his thoughts, and his failings? However, he stayed his hand. This was not the same Vulcan who had intruded upon him previously, and rifled through his thoughts. Dropping his arms and glancing past Spock, McCoy inhaled, and made his decision. "Computer, lock door."

The clicking of the lock hissed through the air. For just a moment, McCoy felt his stomach drop, and he wondered if he had made the correct decision, shadows of the recent past whispering over him. The ship hummed quietly as he stood just before his lover. Spock had given him time and the ability to approach him on his own after the mental rape. While he was grateful for that, he hesitated. It was easier to declare that he wanted to do this hours ago, but to follow through with it was another matter.

Spock's hand on his back was reassuring. His thumb ran against Leonard's spine, stroking in circles and causing the doctor to arch with a relaxed groan. The hesitation slowly melted away, and he nodded his head. "Might as well get started." Walking away from Spock's grasp, he came to the edge of his bed. Shaking his head, he sat down on the floor just before it, and stared up at Spock.

"An interesting choice in seating arrangement," Spock noted.

McCoy shrugged. "Simple, if I pass out, I'll be close to the bed."

"Logical," Spock responded, sitting beside him.

Taking a breath, McCoy nodded his head. Spock's hand was warm against the side of his face. "My mind to your mind," Spock whispered, "my thoughts to your thoughts."

McCoy's room faded away, and Spock found himself drifting through a fog of recent thoughts, McCoy mentally monologuing to him about daily concerns, such as completing recent files, and assembling the duty roster. Moving past them, he found that he was back in full uniform, and walking down a narrow hallway, his footsteps echoing back at him. Standing at the end of the hallway were two thick, metal doors, secured with a cross lock. He paused before it, and glanced about for a key panel, or an unlocking mechanism. Finding neither by visual only, he chose against exploring further, realizing the nature of the puzzle. Folding his hands behind his back, he continued to wait.

The door squealed and groaned, several locks clicking as they released. The doors parted, revealing darkness, broken in patches by low reds and oranges. Spock stepped through it, the doors sliding closed behind him. He noted, however, that the locks didn't re-engage.

Databanks, old in appearance, lined the walls, with cords sticking out of them. Medical equipment, much of which was broken, was haphazardly jammed into nooks and crannies among them. Arms and legs stuck out, as well, but Spock was quickly able to determine, from the hanging wires and blue sparks shooting out of them, that they were artificial. The appearance given off by the area was industrialized. It was quite unbecoming of McCoy, and tipped him off as to the nature of this room. Rounding about the last of the shelves, he stopped to take in the main area.

Monitors hung from the walls and ceiling, displaying multiple scenes at once, several of them on loop. A little girl featured in a few of them, and Spock figured that she was most likely Joanna. In one scene, she sobbed in fear before the alternate version of McCoy. In another, the splashing color tone indicating it had been a dream, she stared up from the ground, covered in blood, and groaned, "You killed me, Daddy." Gore filled several of the monitors from failed surgeries, or patients that were too far gone to save. Jocelyn was in a few others, as well, an alternate of her collapsing to the floor, shot by her husband. Images of his mirrored self drawing slowly closer and closer, one hand outheld, and inflicting harm upon the doctor, Leonard's blood on the floor, caused him to pause, shut his eyes, and gather himself with a heavy breath.

Further inward was an area, lit in a sickly white light, and spilling shadows through cell bars onto the floor. Within lay Spock's counterpart from the alternate universe, unconscious and appearing to be on life support, due to the amount of wires trailing from his biobed. A heart rate monitor thrummed away.

In the center of the room was a control panel on a raised platform. Manning it was McCoy, clad in full uniform, his expression hidden from him due to his head being down, and his arm blocking it from view. Spock, however, could feel the doctor's anguish radiating from him. "Leonard," he called over to him.

The doctor's body heaved with a sigh. "Hello, Spock."

Spock's boots thumped as he ascended the platform to stand beside him. "Have I intruded upon you?"

He snorted. "Was the door opening any indication?"

"No," he replied, placing his hands together, and turning toward the figure upon the biobed, "Will he awaken?"

"He never does," McCoy replied, "and he never dies." Sensing Spock's curiosity, he indicated the buttons and dials on the panel. "Life support, and termination. He's quite a needy patient, to say the least." McCoy's eyes were drawn to a ripple in heart rate, and he adjusted a dial.

Spock watched quietly as his lover carefully made his adjustments, keeping a sort of rhythm to the needs of the patient, his eyes darting up and down. The Vulcan did not need to ask what would happen, should the patient be lost, as it was immaterial, the task keeping him in a loop. McCoy wiped at his forehead, his gaze darting over to Spock. "You're still here?"

"You invited me in," he replied simply.

He shrugged. "Not much to see."

That was not entirely truthful, Spock noted, watching his hands flying over the controls, and twitching ever so slightly, the ring on his pinkie giving away the jerking movements he made toward the system that would end the life of the patient. Glancing up, he watched, with a wince, the shot exploding into Jocelyn in one life, juxtaposed against her hitting Leonard in another life. On another monitor, he saw himself and Leonard copulating, while a spit screen showed his mirror counterpart contemptuously standing over McCoy, who was covered in blood with his clothing half-pulled off.

"Leonard, step back."

McCoy lowered his head from where he stood at the control panel, his hands spread out. His shoulders slumped down. "I—I can't."

Spock placed a hand between his shoulder blades. "T'hy'la," he began softly, "you are different. You did not make the choices he did." The monitor directly above them displayed the mirrored version of McCoy, his ice blue eyes staring up from beneath a few strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead, the scars angrily carving into his flesh, and holding a squealing and crying Joanna against himself.

The primary version of McCoy's head swung, and he glared fiercely up at him. Years of guilt and self-doubt were etched onto the doctor's face. Drawing in upon himself, his hands sliding backward over the control panel, he hissed, "I warned you! I told you not to come in here! Now look at me, I'm repulsive!"

"Leonard!" McCoy gasped as Spock yanked him off the panel, grasping him tightly by his shoulders, and squeezing them. Metal squealed as the room warped, contracting upon itself. Glass broke from the monitors being crushed beneath the weight of the ceiling, and the monitor attached to Spock's double jumped.

"Let go of me, damn it!" He snapped, tugging against him, "Let go!" Hair fell into his face, and his teeth gnashed, causing him to look wild.

Spock, however, held onto him, as the room shuddered about them. The lights burst, sending bits of glass flying. Leonard's anguished grunts and growls filled the silence as he attempted to yank himself loose. Keeping his grasp tight upon him, Spock replied firmly, "I will not. This is not real."

"Damn you!" McCoy snapped, striking his chest with his fists. Spock grunted at the first hit, but made no further reaction. "You think I can just get over what he put me through? I'll go back to being your perfect little t'hy'la? Humans don't work that way, Spock!"

Spock let go of his shoulders, and grasped his wrists to keep him from striking him again. "That is not what I meant."

"What do you want from me?" He questioned, his voice gravelly as he attempted in vain to yank his hands apart.

"For you to be happy," he replied.

"You're wasting your breath," McCoy snarled derisively, "It's not a measurable goal, rather it's a state of mind. Come on, Spock, even you should know that!"

"I was not finished," he corrected, "I want you to be able to sleep again. I want you to stop doubting yourself so. I want you to believe that you are not the same man that lives in that universe."

McCoy's resistance waned, and Spock let go of his hands. He brushed the hair from his face, and adjusted his uniform. Spock appeared ready to say something further, but was abruptly cut off by the sounds of whispering, rising above the clangs of metal, and the clinking of glass. McCoy spun about in surprise. "What in blazes…" His voice trailed off in shock as several figures appeared within what remained of the room, tall and seeming to rise out of the blackness, their faces utterly blank. Rimming them were the sharp points of ears.

Garbed in long, flowing cloaks, the faceless figures with pointed ears surrounded them, turning to stare at Spock before drawing backward, whispering among each other. The whispers grew steadily louder, with the words, in Vulcan, rising. Spock could understand them, and felt each barb anew from "half-breed," "he must be broken," and "what a waste." McCoy couldn't determine the words, but, casting a gaze over his shoulder at Spock, he could determine their ill intent. His lover winced, his hands flying up to his own ears in a childish motion, only to drop them just as quickly, and draw back in upon himself.

Swinging back around, McCoy directed his anger at the figures. "Stop!" He hissed, "Leave him alone!" The figures drew closer, moving over the floor, and leaving the two in a sea of black and white. Spock stood transfixed, while McCoy, holding his ground, grew more irritated. "How dare you judge him!" The doctor snapped, turning about on his heel to address all of them, "You should be ashamed! He can't control his parentage!" Taking one step forward, McCoy's fists clenched, appearing ready to take them all on at once. "Worthless, all of you! He has accomplished more in his lifetime than any of you have! What have any of you done to place yourselves above him?" The figures drew backward from him, McCoy glancing about to see if all the figures were backing off from Spock. "You've done nothing of any significance," he went on, "You'll all be forgotten, and that is what you fear."

The figures fell upon themselves, merging into the darkness, and vanishing. McCoy sighed in relief, not thinking that his tactic would work. Turning back toward Spock, he could feel the shame burning from his companion's admittance to feeling fear, and loneliness. He resembled more a statue than a man, pale and stalk still. "Hey, Spock," he moved toward him, and waved his hand to get his attention. Spock slowly came back into himself, and ventured his gaze about. "You all right?" Leonard asked.

Spock tightly nodded, and McCoy placed his arms about him. Stroking his hair, the doctor comforted, "Darling, don't worry, they're gone."

Spock buried his head in Leonard's shoulder. McCoy's breath caught as he felt Spock's shallow breaths upon him, knowing what would follow. However, the Vulcan grasped hold of himself, and relaxed, raising his head, McCoy loosening his grip to allow him to do so. His dark eyes boring into Leonard's, Spock said, "Declare one more time that you are repulsive." McCoy didn't contradict him, and Spock reached out a hand to run it down the side of his face. "You call yourself that, yet you defended me without question."

He shrugged as Spock's hand fell to his side. "Doesn't matter who it is. I'm not going to stand there, and let someone hurt you."

"A repulsive creature would not care," he replied, "Is that understood?"

"What I said about you, is that also understood?" Leonard asked, throwing his words back at him, "You know that their opinions don't matter, but they still bother you."

"I am half human. You have often favored that part of me."

McCoy cleared his throat self-consciously. "I'll have to work on that, then. I'm sorry. I've been no better than them."

"You mean no animosity toward me," he replied, "outside of basic verbiage, of course."

"Someone's gotta wipe that smug look off your face." Spock raised an eyebrow at that, and McCoy shrugged to indicate it was meant to be a joke.

"You did not answer my question," Spock indicated.

McCoy turned his head from him, and commented, "He's still there."

"He is a memory. I can force him to disappear," Spock replied. Leonard's head swung quickly about that. Spock inclined his head gravely. "That is, however, entirely your choice, should you desire for me to proceed."

McCoy's fists clenched, and he trembled in place. "Make me forget…What a nightmare. I'd feel it, though, wouldn't I, if we melded again. You'd hide the truth from me?"

"Only if you desired it."

McCoy realized the choice that Spock was offering him. "I can't forget it. It would just drive a greater wedge between us. Why risk giving what we have up, for some short peace?"

"Because if that was what you wanted, I would give it to you." He shook his head. "I understand now, the fear you feel in looking upon me. I can even feel some residual disgust. No, Leonard, do not lie. I know that you do not mean it," he paused at McCoy's opening his mouth.

"It isn't what I want!" He snapped, his eyes blazing in anger, "And Spock, if you make that offer one more time, you can forget doing this with me again." Spock refrained, and McCoy continued, "I'm not proud of what I've done in my life, but I can't forget it. Not even this."

"This was not your fault," Spock replied firmly.

"It still happened," he remarked bitterly, "That remains between us."

"Do you trust me?" Spock inquired.

"Well, let me think. You just offered to wipe my memories. I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of you tinkering around in here now. Fine, do what you want. It's not as if you can break anything else."

"This will require you, as well. It is your mind," Spock explained.

McCoy let out a breath, and nodded. "All right, no time like the present, then. The moment this gets uncomfortable, however, you're gone."

Spock nodded. "I am a guest here, Leonard. I will honor that."

A smile flitted across the doctor's face. "What do I do?"

Spock turned toward what remained of the platform, the dials and buttons barely glowing, and cracked. "This must vanish."

McCoy's face fell. "I can't do that. He'll die."

Spock turned back to look at him. "You have told me before that he neither lives nor dies."

"Spock, don't make me do this," he shook his head, "I can't, not now. I can't take a life."

"But he is alive, Leonard," he reminded him, "Within his own universe, he still lives, as does your alternate self." McCoy kneaded his hands, and Spock decided against speaking further.

Jamming his nails into his palms, McCoy confirmed his suspicions. "I wanted him to suffer, after what he did to me," he gestured toward the limp body, "but that would have proved him right."

Spock moved away from him, and had to duck his head as he stood before the bars. He placed a hand to them, and, closing his eyes, took in a breath. He could feel it, there, not as an individual, but as a wound, among many others, contained within this room. While he had been correct in telling Nurse Chapel that his counterpart did not bond with McCoy, the pain was obvious. McCoy was blocking him still. He turned back, and folded his hands to look at the doctor.

McCoy stood silently before him. He slowly nodded. Turning back, Spock saw his alternate's eyes snap open, and stare at him. Confusion filled the alternate as he stared at him. Walking up behind Spock, McCoy commented, "He's too weak to get up." The patient's dark eyes locked upon him, and the doctor held the gaze in an icy stare.

Spock refrained from speaking with the image upon the biobed. This was not about him. "He can, however, live without your support."

"If he does, I can't say whether he'll get loose," McCoy replied in concern.

Therein lay the fear, Spock realized. "He will not," he answered. When McCoy swung about to stare at him in surprise, Spock continued, turning back to look at him, "You are stronger than you think you are, Leonard."

"Hard to believe that," he muttered. Spock touched McCoy's arm at that, and his mirrored version's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. McCoy grinned, and taunted, "Don't like that very much, do you?" The patient, however, did not move, and merely continued to eye them with disdain. McCoy threaded his fingers through Spock's. He squeezed them as Spock heard his own voice, distorted and cruel, telling Leonard that he would eventually cause his crew pain due to his emotional weakness, and compassion.

"That is wrong," he said, "We are each flawed, on this crew, and our failures are numerous. You are no different. If that disturbs you, you are in good company."

McCoy stared down at the body, and Spock was again filled with erotic images of himself, as he was, and his t'hy'la lovingly copulating. Old images, better days, and a desire to have them back again. He dropped McCoy's hand, much to doctor's disturbance, only to wrap his arms about McCoy's shoulders from behind, and pull him into him. "It is not lost," he murmured in his ear, "Look upon the example of this evening. You did not have to welcome me, as you did." Wrapped about as a protective shell, he allowed his utter adoration for the doctor to show, and revealed to him his respect for his compassion and bravery.

The alternate Spock's fists weakly clenched at that, but McCoy shut his eyes, breaking the contact. "The panel is the point of it."

"Yes," Spock replied.

"What will he do here, fester?" McCoy asked.

"I will assist you, if you wish," he replied, his arm falling, and his palms being placed to either side of his shoulders, "This is a beginning."

"Long as you're fine with it," he replied.

Spock's hands fell from his shoulders. "I am." He backed out of the way, and allowed McCoy to start toward the panel. The doctor slowly held up a hand to it. The control panel lowered to the floor, vanishing into it. McCoy let out a heavy breath. "New world, I guess," he muttered.

Spock turned his back upon the patient, and came to stand beside Leonard, who asked, "Could I show you something?" Spock nodded his head. "Come on, then. This isn't a pleasant place to be."

Spock didn't bother venturing a glance back. The hall stretched off into darkness as he dutifully followed his doctor before falling away completely.

A summer breeze greeted Spock. Moonlight shined down upon an open field, while stars showed in the night sky above. An old barn stood in the distance, with a farmhouse further off. At the end of the field was a forest. "This must not have been important to him," McCoy commented, "He didn't dig into here."

"He is not pertinent to the conversation, then," Spock replied, drawing up alongside him, "Don't allow him in here, as well."

"Easier said than done," he hissed.

"I have not made the implication," Spock corrected.

Swaying in the breeze on the edge of the forest was a hammock. McCoy sat down upon it, his legs slightly spread. "Doesn't look like this, really, I know. It's probably dirtier, and lonelier. That's a human failing, in how we remember things as more glamorous than they once were." He stared down at his hands. "Even memories of less than pleasant circumstances are smoothed over."

"To chase the past is illogical," Spock replied, his hands behind his back as he stared out at the field, "It disallows one the ability to see what is in the here and now."

"Any regrets?" McCoy asked.

"You know better, t'hy'la."

Silence passed between them, with the wind whispering, and crickets chirping. Spock felt and understood McCoy's memories of this place. He'd stared up at the stars from here often, or came to think, and simply disappear from the world for a while. It was quiet, and private, and he felt privileged to be there, with him. It was mundane, having no earth-shattering revelations, merely being a place where the doctor, still only a student at the time, read his textbooks or turned over his thoughts, but it was his. Rather, now, it was theirs, Spock having left his presence there.

And for a moment, contemplating the Vulcan before him, McCoy understood it, at least to a point. Here, he held Spock, and no one would know where he had gone. How could one think to find a Vulcan within the mind of a human? He craved the ability to protect him. "I wanted you to see this place, someday," McCoy admitted, and smiled, "Guess I got my wish."

Spock started toward the hammock, and settled himself carefully down beside him on it, his arm brushing up against the doctor's. McCoy held the hammock in place with his foot. Lying beside him, Spock felt the excitement of it, with so many questions rising to the surface about him, that he wanted to ask. Though it wasn't merely intellectual information. His impressions and his emotions, especially for how illogical a being he was, made up more of Leonard McCoy. There was an answer to his call, another inquisitive mind wishing to know so much about him. Perhaps it was his human half that expressed itself so bluntly within the meld, but Spock felt a sense of pride at McCoy's own curiosity over him. He seized control of himself to quickly quell it.

McCoy reached up a hand, and self-consciously wiped the sweat on his forehead away with the back of it. A giddy grin at the realization of Spock's fascination with him was upon his face. "Wow, I'm not sure what to say to that one."

Spock, however, elected to say nothing, and instead twisted slightly to lean his weight fully into McCoy's chest, his one arm about his torso. Had they truly been on Earth, the motion would have caused both to dump out, and fall to the ground. McCoy's mind, however, kept them afloat. Leaning down, the doctor stroked over his back, drawing him into himself. Spock curled closer about him, and groaned at the pleasure of it, allowing himself to be drawn completely into the doctor's world. Memories and emotions associated with this place drifted over him, and whispered away just as quickly. While humans did not reach the same intensity of meditation as Vulcans accomplished, there was a sense of pensive thought about this place. Self-reflection and wonderment, as well as lack of surety, over the future, was pondered here. Vague images of a possible future as a doctor were drawn up, and better detailed as time went by.

And somewhere within was an image of a young woman, with flowing dark hair and eyes. McCoy's hands upon him paused as he quickly pushed it away. Spock glanced up. "You do not need to hide her."

"She doesn't have anything to do with us," he replied.

"But you have often contemplated her here," Spock pointed out, "You do not need to be ashamed of that." The trees being them rustled, and a dog barked. A human voice called out something that was distorted by the distance.

McCoy glanced away from him, as if seeking out the voice, his hand hovering in midair. Spock didn't intervene, as the tone appeared different in this area. Slowly, the doctor turned to look back at him, lowering his hand to Spock's head, and stroking his hair. "One thing at a time." Closing his eyes, Spock relaxed once more. Possessively, Leonard tugged him up, his hands wrapping about his shoulder. The branches of the trees lowered, bathing them in shadows, and hiding the Vulcan from view.

Spock's fingers lowered from McCoy's face. Breathing heavily, the doctor rested his head against the side of the bed behind him. He felt a strong hand steadying him by the shoulder. Spock's brown gaze held his, studying him quietly. "Spock?"

"I am here," he responded. His hand tightened upon McCoy's shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Bit of an odd question to answer. I feel like me, but I won't be able to look at you the same way again."

Spock self-consciously took his gaze from him, raising his knee, and draping his hand over it. He didn't move to leave, however, as his companion was still in a daze.

"What I mean is," Leonard continued, the slight catch in his voice indicating an undercurrent of unhappiness at Spock's defensive reaction, "it's a little lonely in here, now." Spock glanced up at that. Crossing his arms, McCoy shook his head at him. "You expected me to think less of you, after that? Of course not." The Vulcan relaxed his pose as he continued, "Need I remind you of the amount of times I've seen you under duress?"

"I would have considered this more of a point of pride."

McCoy smiled knowingly. "We've both got more than enough of that. Doesn't mean you don't have my respect. Well," he rolled his eyes, "much as I hate to admit it, in any case."

Spock smiled, and realized that McCoy was waiting for a reply. "As you do mine, doctor, but my actions toward you should have informed you of such."

"Then there's no need for concern," he replied, propping his elbow up against the side of the bed, "I'd say that you were reacting emotionally."

"Rather," Spock argued, "I am reacting to your emotional outburst."

McCoy narrowed his eyes at him, and Spock nearly laughed. The doctor's face softened at the amusement in the Vulcan's eyes, and he shook his head, realizing that he had been teasing. He rested his head against the side of the bed, and closed his eyes. Spock's hand slipped behind McCoy's shoulder, grasping him across his back. His other hand slipped beneath his knees, tugging him up. McCoy considered protesting against this, as he only had to stand up, and settle into bed. However, his exhaustion and slight delirium caused it to fall from his consideration. The doctor in his arms, Spock circled carefully about the bed, and laid him down upon it. McCoy sighed, and relaxed upon the surface.

Dropping one arm against the pillow, and narrowing his eyes up at him, he asked, "It's not going to always be like this, is it?"

The Vulcan shook his head, and reached out a hand. McCoy's eyes followed his motion, and shut when it found his hair. "You will become more used to it, over time."

McCoy leaned into his touch. A war had been lost, in one lifetime, because of this man. Millions of lives had been snuffed out, and billions more had been ripped from existence, just because of his split-second decision. Spock's would have been included among it, but it mattered not to him as he stroked McCoy's brown hair. He was alive, and his doctor was with him. Leaning down, he kissed his forehead, Leonard's eyelids fluttering groggily. "Sleep well, Ashayam."

"That's a new one," McCoy rasped, "What's it mean?" Spock spoke the answer, and he smiled at that. As Spock moved to rise, and head into the anteroom, McCoy stopped him by grasping his fingers. "No."

"Len, I—"

"It's all right, I want you here." At Spock's lack of belief, he picked the Vulcan's palm from his head, and brought it to his lips. Spock made no further protest, and crawled upon the surface of the bed toward him. Leonard scooted over to accommodate him. Spock's arms loosely wound about him from behind, and McCoy found that he quite liked that. He felt as if he was placing himself before Spock, and whatever concerns were to come. "Thanks for waiting up on me," he mumbled.

"It was logical," Spock replied plainly, "You had requested time to consider the nature of our relationship."

McCoy snorted. "It would've been much longer, then."

"I suppose it would be interesting, in analysis, though there are a few practical reasons," Spock mused.

"Such as?"

Spock paused before replying, his hand wrapping around McCoy's torso to trail upward, and settle over his left breast to pull him closer. Leonard groaned, feeling his nipple hardening under Spock's grasp. He mumbled his partner's name as his fingers circled over it once before falling. Turning his head to angle his voice directly into McCoy's ear, he replied, "Survival."

Leonard's eyes widened at that, the affection he felt for Spock passing to the man in question through their bodily contact. Spock heaved a ragged sigh against the shell of McCoy's ear, causing the doctor to shudder. Still, so many questions remained, and it was better to wait, despite the very real desire he felt to share his mind with this man. But then, it was all right. There was so much he wanted to learn about his companion, and there was time. They were here, together, with three years left between each other, and beyond that? It wasn't something he could see, not yet, but damned if he let go of Spock. For as insufferable as the Vulcan was, on multiple occasions, it was his arms that held him, and kept him from falling. Turning slowly over, allowing Spock to move his arms, Leonard faced him head-on. Catching a yawn in his hand, he replied, "Should've known. Dating a doctor has its perks, I suppose."

Spock smirked at his beloved's humor, and kissed him on the head as Leonard burrowed into his chest.

* * *

-Report Postscript-

As of current, no further forays have been made into the alternate universe. Due to the hostility the last away party received during its unexpected journey into this universe, I advise against further exploration for the time being.

My commanding officer and friend, Captain James T. Kirk, has advised for Commander Spock of the alternate universe to consider the ideology of the Federation, and implementing it to the Terran Empire. Notably, this would be under an iron fist, given the fact that Spock would have to use the Tantalus field to enforce his new beliefs.

While I am a doctor, and not a politician, I cannot help but wonder what this would mean for the future of that universe. Furthermore, the ethics of it are to be considered. While we can't turn our backs on human suffering, we have meddled in the affairs of another universe. The Organian treaty cannot apply on a purely legal basis, in this situation. Nevertheless, we have expanded Federation influence into a new frontier, and have possibly caused an irrevocable change.

I can only speculate as to what the effects of this would be on the Terran Empire. Excluding personal bias (which will be omitted for objectivity), there are four paths that can be taken:

1\. Commander Spock successfully swings the ideology of the Terran Empire, and the Empire, as a result, gives way to an era of peace

2\. Commander Spock successfully swings the ideology of the Terran Empire for a short time, but it cycles back to its previous state

3\. Commander Spock is unsuccessful, and, as a result, the Terran Empire remains as it is

4\. Commander Spock is unsuccessful, and, as a result, the Terran Empire morphs into a more totalitarian structure than it already is

The sociological and psychological aspects of each scenario, therefore, would only be built upon pure speculation. Despite my training as a psychologist, and the mind meld that was forced upon me by the alternate Commander Spock, I do not profess to completely understand the people with whom he keeps his company. My speculation itself also rests upon the basic cycling of rising and falling of empires within the history of the Federation (see footnotes for further text clarification on this). My concern is for the well-being of all sentient life, including that of the alternate universe. How will billions of lives be affected by this individual's decision?

Remains to be seen.

-Report closed-


End file.
